


Kids in the Dark

by MaurianasRavenholdt



Series: The Collector [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman - Fandom, Dick Grayson - Fandom, Nightwing (Comics), Nightwing - Fandom, Oracle - Fandom, Robin (Comics), Robin - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Multi, Prostitution, Trafficking, Undercover, dubcon, noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-26 22:09:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20396941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaurianasRavenholdt/pseuds/MaurianasRavenholdt
Summary: Dick goes deep under cover as a rent boy in Metropolis to expose a human trafficking ring with connections to Gotham, but it all goes sideways when some high powered figures at the top recognize him.





	1. Sew the Scarlet Letter

**Author's Note:**

> Mind the tags, they may change as chapters are added. This isn’t pre-written for me, Im writing as I go, so it has the potential to get pretty dark. We’ll see how it goes.

——-  
3 Jan 2018  
22:00  
No problems setting up and integrating at the Baymont Motel, seven blocks from the redlight district. Robert “Robbie” Malone is, so far, just an aspiring actor. Fits the description for some of the other missing boys and men. I’ve got an audition tonight at the “Full Moon Saloon”, one of the few full nudity ‘male reviews’ in the city. A handful of those confirmed to be trafficked started out there. Will report more after.  
——-

Closing the notebook and sliding it into a slit he cut in the mattress, Dick Grayson gave himself a once over in the dusty mirror hanging on the wall. Weeks of intel stretching from Gotham to D.C. and beyond had led up to this mission. Though now that he was faced with it, he was losing a bit of his nerve. Nightwing, Protector Of Blüdhaven - now Robbie Malone, rent boy. He tried to steel himself by flipping through the images of the missing, some as young as 13. It was a pattern no one could ignore, and screamed of an international trafficking ring. One minute these kids were here, the next they were gone. And barely anyone noticed. After all, who cares about some misplaced prostitutes? 

“I care.” He confirmed to his reflection. 

Though if he were honest, it wasn’t until a middle class boy, Patrick Clebb, went missing that the pattern was really clear, and people were really paying attention. 

Male, dark hair, athletic, 13-24, runaways and escorts alike. Twenty seven in total confirmed gone. 

It had to stop. He would _make_ it stop. 

And if it took wiggling his ass for old pervs and drunk bachelorettes, so be it. 

“Oracle, you read me?”

“Loud and clear, boy wonder” 

“Heading out, no comms. Be back in touch by 0300.”

“You better be, bird boy.” 

Dick, no - Robbie, hitched a messenger bag over his shoulder and left the drab room, slipping the key into his tattered jeans. It was dark, and he tried not to be distracted by the hookers and junkies that practically littered the streets on his walk to the club. So many people who needed help. Too many. They had to take a number - he had work to do. 

The ‘audition’ was one of the more disturbing things he’d ever participated in. One by one, the ‘candidates’ were escorted into a small, brightly lit room with a folding table, two chairs, and a digital video camera on a tripod. Music from the review thrummed in the background - country western themed. When it was ‘Robbie’s’ turn, he wiped his sweating palms on his thighs and stepped in. 

“Strip” the terse command came from a disinterested middle aged man in the corner with a clipboard. He raised an eyebrow over his large, wire rimmed glasses. Dick hesitated, then got to work unbuckling and unzipping, piling the clothes on the chair beside him. Glasses made a few notes, nodding approvingly. “No tattoos, intact...how tall are you?” The last remark was intended for Dick. 

He cleared his throat uncomfortably, “Um, 5’10’’”

Glasses rolled his eyes. “Listen sweet cheeks, if you’re going to be this bashful you might as well go home. You’ve got the goods, but it’s no use to me if you’re some shy and retiring belle. Got it?” 

“Yeah, Yeah,” Dick confirmed, “Sorry, first time.” 

The mood in the room shifted drastically as Glasses leaned forward, suddenly very interested. “Where you from, kid?” 

He would have liked to put his clothes back on before answering, but he got the distinct impression it was not the time, “Here, Metropolis. Well, the county. Can’t be an actor in the county, though, right?” 

“And you’re sure you’re over 18?”

“Yep. 20 last month.” 

Glasses scrunched his nose, “Little old for this, don’t you think? This some kinda quarter-life crisis for you? If I’m gonna take the time to train you I don’t want you running off in a week because you got bored and missed mamas cooking.”

Dick shook his head, biting his lip in mock grief, “They don’t want me back. Leviticus or some shit.”

Glasses leaned back in his chair, smiling and satisfied. “I think you’ll fit in just fine. Be here tomorrow night, same time. Get dressed and get out of here. I still got a line of uglies I gotta disappoint.” 

Dick slid on his boxers and jeans, trying to avoid the lewd ogling from Glasses as he watched intently. “Thanks!” He chirped, hiding his discomfort behind false optimism,”See you tomorrow!” 

The whole process was as unsettling as it was exhausting. Dick replayed the memory of the encounter repeatedly until he reached the motel, not wanting to miss a detail in his report. 

He slid the key back in the slot, turned the handle, and flicked on the light, cringing as a few roaches scurried out of sight. He dropped his bag on the bed and opened a comm.

“You there O?”

“Where else would I be, man wonder?”

“I got the job!”

“Congratulations? I think” 

“Yeah - I start tomorrow. I already feel good about this lead. The guy was creepy as hell.”

“Good. The sooner you crack this the sooner you can cover your crack and come home.”

Dick sighed heavily at the terrible joke. “G’night, O”

“Goodnight, ‘wing”


	2. Red Wine Drip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Robbie” is identified as a rising star, but will it help his mission or bring it crashing down.

——-  
5 Jan 2018  
04:25

First night at “FMS” in the books. A few key pieces of intel. “Glasses” from the interview is Chester Finley (Mr. F to the employees). He’s been the ‘talent’ manager for 17 months. Before that it’s rumored he ran an ‘escort’ service out of St. Martins Island. Bit of a fall from grace for Finley. Need to find out more. 

Met a contact named “Mark” -stage dancer at FMS. He explained the “pay” structure and it is definitely suspicious. It’s tips only, and all tips are pooled. Finley gets 40% off the top, dancers are promised a cut of the remaining 60% - but it’s apparently hit or miss. Anybody questioning the arrangement is “fired”. I’ll need to be careful digging around - be a hell of a loss to the mission if I was cut loose now. 

No pay tonight - I was a ‘trainee’. But I’ve apparently already impressed the top brass, and have been tapped as a “private” dancer for an event tomorrow/later today. I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not.   
——-

Dick thought he was used to seeing the underbelly of a city - the dark, moldy parts that nobody talked about. But he was always an outsider looking in. Living the life is a different thing all together. 

Mark was pretty clear and upfront about the whole process. Stage dancers come and go - and are mostly there to entertain rowdy parties of middle aged women. Tips suck, and Finley treats you like garbage till you quit or prove yourself. 

Private dancers are the next rung up the food chain. The pay is supposed to be considerably better, when it comes, and the clientele consists mostly of business men looking to scratch an itch without being recognized. 

According to Mark, if you “make it” as a private dancer, there’s more upward mobility. He wasn’t clear on the details though. 

Dick stripped and stepped into the cracking shower stall of his motel room, letting the scalding-hot water soothe some of the ache where he had been slapped and pinched on the ass repeatedly by a group of older women wearing insane red hats and purple dresses. Since when is that a thing? 

He stepped out onto a thin towel on he floor and wiped the steam from the mirror, examining his stubble, contemplating a shave. Deciding that taking care of it right before he left again might make him look younger than sporting a 5 o’clock shadow, he elected to wait. 

Naked, he flopped down on the creaking bed and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the sounds of rodents chewing in the walls as he dozed off. 

He awoke around noon to Oracle’s singsong voice coming indistinctly from the earpiece on the bedside table. He pressed the comm button and groaned. “I was sleeping” 

“Oh, sorry,” she chuckled, “I didn’t want to interrupt your luxury beauty rest. Just thought you might like some details on your “private party” tonight.” 

Dick sat up abruptly, “Is it good?”

“Practically juicy. The event is sponsored by Newstime Magazine, one of the few media outlets _not_ running the story about Clebb and the other missing boys. The owner is supposed to be there, Collin Thornton. _Big Blue_ even tried to get close to this guy, with no luck. Rumored to be wrapped up in all sorts of bad crap. This is massive. We should have put you in the field sooner!”

Shaking his head and sighing, Dick replied, “They must be confident to be moving this fast on a target. It’s too soon, I haven’t built enough of a rapport...”

“Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet now, former boy wonder? Just keep your comm with you, what could happen?”

“I can’t do that, Babs, and you know it. I have to be practically naked when I’m there, an earpiece would be a little suspicious, don’t you think? And I’m not nervous, I just don’t want to blow this by moving too quick.” 

Oracle sighed, “It’s ok to be nervous. I would be.”

“I’m not. Just send me the info you have on Thornton, please. If he’s already involved, he may be a smaller fish than we’re looking for” 

Dick tossed the earpiece on the bed and double checked that his shades were closed before he slid a secure laptop out of his bag. Thornton’s dossier popped up immediately. Surprisingly, nothing shady on record. This might just be a coincidence. He scoffed at his own thoughts 

_ Coincidence? Right. And water is fucking dry._

The guy looked like a villain from a Saturday morning cartoon. Replete with the grey hair and small, pointed beard. 

Maybe he was a little nervous. 

The dossier has absorbed a good portion of his time, with breaks for meals, and the sun was going down when he decided to shave and move out. He tapped his earpiece before leaving, “Showtime. I’ll check in by 0300.”

He tossed the comm in a drawer before Oracle could answer, and left the motel. The walk to the club was getting as familiar as the constant catcalls were getting irritating. Frankly, the street prostitutes were the worst. 

“You wanna Party? Don’t ignore me! Fuck you, you’re fucking ugly anyway!”

“Damn, I’d pay you so I could sit on that face!” 

By the time he reached the club he was already dreading the night. Briefly, he considered calling the whole damn operation off. Suiting up as Nightwing and taking care of this the old fashioned way. 

_The old fashioned way isn’t working, dummy._

He shook off the anxiety and pushed in the door. 

“Oh good, you’re early!” Mark said brightly as Dick entered the dressing room. “Exciting news! We’re on drinks tonight! Which means better tips and you can sneak shots all night. Plus the guys always want to buy you a drink, so it’ll be like getting paid to party! Where are your boots?”

Dick stared wide eyed at Mark, then down at the sneakers on his feet. “Uhhh...”

Mark scoffed, “Ugggh! Mr. F always forgets to tell the new guys to buy their own damn boots. Listen. Costumes are on the house. They stay here. Shoes are on you. I think you’re lucky, though. Some guy got fired yesterday and left his crap here. You can use his tonight but then you need to get your own! Got it?” 

Dick nodded, overwhelmed by Mark’s relentless energy as he continued. 

“Good, now take this and get the boots over there and get changed! I’ll give you the tour of the private rooms !” 

Mark shoved a startlingly small piece of cloth into his hands. Dick held it up and examined it with suspicion. Black spandex shorts. And that was it. 

“Go!” Mark chided and shooed him off to the corner. 

Once changed, Dick sidled up to Mark like a lost puppy. “Aww you’re nervous, aren’t you? It’s adorable! You’ll be fine! And you look _delicious_. I didn’t think anyone could _really_ pull off cowboy boots and booty shorts, but...” he clicked his tongue in approval. 

The tour then started in earnest. The private area consisted of a large open space lined with brown leather banquettes and smaller tables, a circular bar decked out in horseshoes and fake barn wood as the centerpiece. 

“It’s all pretty easy, sweetheart. You flirt with the clients, they order drinks. The more you flirt, the more they order, the happier Mr. F is. You give the orders to the bartender, I think it’s Tony tonight, he puts it on a tray, and you take it back. Piece of cake. And have _fun_. This is my favorite job, here.” Mark kissed him on the cheek, “For luck, cutie!” 

Before long, throngs of men in suits and ties filed in, laughing amongst themselves and eyeing the employees with ill intent. Drink orders piled up, and Dick was vaguely aware of his underestimation of how much _hustle_ this would take. He was also more than _vaguely_ aware that a man seated alone in a corner banquette was staring at him. Colin Thornton. He approached with a smile, “Hi, I’m Robbie. Would you like anything, sir?” 

Thornton cocked his head to the side, eyeing Dick up and down, panting a little and licking his lips. “You’re new.” 

It wasn’t a question, but Dick nodded in spite of himself, looking bashful and leaning hard into what Mark had dubbed his ‘school boy charm’. “I hope it’s not too obvious?” 

“Only in the best possible way.” Thornton’s chuckle was almost warm, _almost_ genuine, and entirely unsettling. “Have a seat.” 

Dick slid into the banquette. “No,” Thornton clarified, as he patted his lap, “Here.”

His breath hitched and he hesitated before sliding onto the older mans thighs, wrapping his arms around Thornton’s shoulders. “Better, sir?” 

Thornton’s gaze was so lascivious it was nearly nauseating, and it took all Dick had not to flinch when the man ran his fingers through his hair, lingering on his neck before moving on down his back, finally slipping a hand in his shorts and stroking his ass. “Much.” 

Finley was making his rounds, checking on the customers, when he caught sight of Thornton nuzzling Dick’s neck, planting wet kisses below his ear. 

“Enjoying the new talent?” He asked, smiling a Cheshire smile. 

Thornton nodded, “Where’d you find such a sweet, innocent product like this one Fin? Usually your boys look like they’ve been used a few too many times to be worth anything.” 

“He came to us. Almost fell over when he walked in.” 

Dick flushed, embarrassed. He could never recall being so degraded and objectified. This was getting out of hand. He tried to get up, hoping to use the excuse of getting back to work, but Thornton pressed down on his lap, using the motion to grope his crotch. “I’d like to take your new toy upstairs, if you don’t mind, Fin? He might be a good candidate for a promotion.” 

“Anything for a good customer. Robbie, go to the dressing room and freshen up - I’ll send Mark your way. Mr. Thornton, enjoy the view for a few minutes and we’ll get your room ready.”

Dick was shaking when he returned to the dressing room. How has he gotten in this deep, this fast? He should have had more time to gather intel before pulling the plug. But he wasn’t born yesterday, and he was very aware that, if he stayed, he wouldn’t be going upstairs to discuss a “promotion”. 

To his surprise, Mark was behind him with a hand on his shoulder, “First time, sweetie?” 

Dick shook his head, “I’ve been with people before, just not...”

“For money?” Mark supplied, “You sweet lamb. You’ll do fine. Here, turn around and open your mouth, I’ve got something that will help.”

He turned, inhaling, preparing to protest, but Mark shoved a blue pill in his mouth and handed him a glass of red wine. “Now, swallow.”

Dick jammed the pill in the pocket of his cheek and took a sip. Mark cooed appreciatively. “There. Now don’t forget me when you get rich. Xannies aren’t free, you know?” He slid a few condoms into the waistband of Dicks shorts and patted his ass, “Almost _nobody_ gets to go upstairs with Thornton. He’s a picky, rich bastard. Don’t screw this up.”

Gulping down a few deep breaths, Dick nodded. The only thing that mattered was the mission. The 27 missing people, some of them just kids. Who knows what horrors they endured? He could do this. For them.


	3. 53rd and 3rd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick is moving up the food chain. But at what cost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit DubCon/NonCon in this chapter.

Dick kept the images from the case files in his mind as he climbed the carpeted spiral stairs to the top floor. There were only 3 doors in the small hallway. One was padlocked with a sign that read “Employees Only”. The door to another room was ajar. The last was shut tight.

He tentatively pushed the open door, exposing the empty room behind it. He ducked in, looking for any details that might help. And possibly stalling the inevitable, just a little.

The room was nondescript, like any hotel in any part of any country. The king sized bed was stripped of its sheets, and the housekeeping cart was parked unceremoniously in the bathroom.

Behind him, someone cleared their throat. Thornton, “Did you get lost? We’re across the hall. Follow me.”

Thornton’s room was the mirror image of the unoccupied suite. Fresh linens were on the bed, and an ice bucket with a bottle of Grey Goose sat in the middle of a small table in the corner. Thornton closed and locked the door behind him. No turning back now.

He poured two glasses of vodka and handed one to Dick, “Drink.” Again, it was clearly not a question or request.

Dick reached for the glass, worrying it in his hands, “Thank you, sir.”

Thornton chuckled, that same, not-quite-right laugh. “I like you kid. You’ve got manners. I usually have to beat them into my playthings. Finish your drink and take off those stupid boots. I keep telling Fin they’re ridiculous.”

Committing fully to the process, trying to smile, Dick swept the vodka into his mouth and swallowed hard. Then, one at a time, he reached down and pulled off the boots, stretching his toes in the shag rug beneath them. Thornton didn’t break his gaze for a moment. “Turn around. Take off your clothes. Slow.”

Dick’s stomach flipped, suddenly rebelling against the strong drink. He took a deep steadying breath, turning around and doing his damndest not to puke. He palmed the condoms in his waistband before sweeping the shorts down his thighs, dropping them to the floor.

An approving growl from Thornton. “Damn. God damn. That is perfection. The suburbs have all the best meat, huh? Get on the bed. On your stomach.”

Fighting the inexplicable urge to cry, Dick complied again. It was entirely too late to say “No” now. He was fucked. Pun not intended.

Thornton dragged a fingertip down Dick’s back, then dug into his hips with his fingernails. “Ass up. Let’s see what we’re working with.”

Taking a step back, pouring himself another drink, Thornton stopped to admire the sight in front of him. “You’re not a whore, are you? Just a kid from nowhere looking for a shot. This is it. Your big break.”

Thornton walked to the head of the bed, and crouched down to look at Dick, who attempted to straighten to meet the eye contact.

“Who told you to fucking move, huh?” The shift in tone was accompanied by a stinging smack across his face. “You keep your ass up unless I tell you otherwise.” He jammed three fingers into Dick’s mouth, gagging him, working them around the inside of his cheeks and tongue. “Looks like I do have to teach you some things after all.”

Abruptly, he pulled away, his fingers covered in drool. He reached his hand back and rubbed the saliva soaked fingers on Dick’s ass, using the wetness to push the pads inside the younger man. Dick inhaled sharply, his fear intensifying the already-uncomfortable stretching pain.

Thornton pulled his fingers out and unzipped the fly on his pants, sitting on the bed in front of Dick, cock bobbing against the young mans lips. “Bet you’ve never done this before. Open up.”

Dick felt like he couldn’t breathe; the older man’s heavy musk did nothing to bite back against the growing nausea.

_This is for the case, for those kids._

He internalized the mantra as he parted his lips; his mouth was immediately and brutally filled, the head of the cock slamming against the back of his throat.

Thornton grabbed a handful of Dick’s dark hair and pushed his head down again and again, bucking his hips until he was at the edge of what he could take. At last he pulled back, pressing Dick’s face into the mattress and climbing behind him. Thornton once again dug his fingernails into yielding flesh, and sank his throbbing cock inside Dick in a single unyielding stroke.

Dick bit the back of his knuckles and stifled a sob. This _hurt_. It was degrading and humiliating, but above all it really fucking hurt.

Leaning forward into each thrust, Thornton once again tangled his fingers in Dick’s hair, grabbing onto his throat with the other hand for leverage. Sweating and rutting for what seemed like an eternity, Thornton finally stiffened and groaned, slowing his pace before cumming. Dick cursed internally, suddenly remembering the unused condoms discarded on the floor by his shorts.

Panting, Thornton stepped back and wiped himself off, blood and semen staining the sheets. “Holy hell, kid. Best I’ve had in a while. Get dressed and stay put. I have to talk to Fin about some new... opportunities for you.”

Dazed, Dick sat up on the edge of the bed before dragging himself to the bathroom and turning on the hot water in the shower.

_Am I even allowed to shower?_ Dick thought sarcastically. Thornton was definitely the big bad the intel claimed he was. And it would be worth it, if this “new opportunity” meant moving deeper into the trafficking ring. At least, he hoped it would be.

Finishing, he grabbed an overly fluffy towel and dried off, examining the red hand prints blossoming by his collarbones in the mirror.

_You’re not a whore. Are you?_ Thornton had asked.

If that’s what it took to save those kids, he would be.


	4. Paper Thin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick has officially made it with the “In” crowd. But is he being efficient or careless?

Only a few minutes passed before a knock at the door pulled him away from his reflection.

Mark.

Exasperated.

“I know you’re working on being all sorts of ‘upwardly mobile’ in here, but I am working my ass off, literally, downstairs. So if you’re done basking in the afterglow, I could use a hand.”

Dick shrugged apologetically, “He told me to stay here.”

“They always say that,” Mark huffed, “Then they go back down, give Mr. F his money, and see some other little thing they want instead. Capricious assholes.”

“_His_ money?” Dick wouldn’t have pressed the issue, but traffickers too often control their victims by controlling their cash flow. He had to be sure it wasn’t just a slip.

“Well, yeah. Just for now, though. Mr. F gets us clothes, training, booze and drugs; that costs money, right? And he told me you could keep the boots. Last guy didn’t work them off, anyway. So you start with a tab, but it’s no big deal, right? The rate you’re going, you’ll be making bank by the end of the week.”

And there it was. That damning piece of information made the ordeal of the last hour bearable.

Dick forced a smile, bobbing his head in agreement, “Yeah. Yeah that makes sense. Do I get a ‘straight edge’ discount?”

Mark clicked his tongue, playfully stroking Dick’s reddened, bruising cheek, “Nobody stays straight in this line of work, honey. Now, c’mon. Drinks won’t serve themselves!”

—-

He was changing back into his jeans and hoodie when Mr. F walked into the dressing room. “I’m damned impressed, Robbie. Takes a lot to make such a... particular client happy. He wants more time with you tomorrow. Not here.”

“Where?” Dick asked after waiting a beat for elaboration.

“You’ll learn not to ask questions like that before long. He’ll have clothes here for you at 10, and a car at 10:15. Do not be late and do not fuck this up. If we lose him as a client that’ll cost me a lot, which means it’ll cost _you_ a lot. Understood?”

“Got it.”

He was almost to the door when Mark grabbed him into a twirling hug, squealing, “Oh Em Gee. You did it! You’re fucking fantastic! Mr. F has been trying to impress Thornton and his deep pockets for ages. Keeps sending him new ‘recruits’ that are never good enough. But _he_ asked for _you_. By _name_.”

Dick could practically taste the alcohol wafting off of his ad hoc friend. “You want someone to walk you home?”

“You are the bestest bestie I’ve _ever_ had!” Mark grabbed onto the crook of Dick’s elbow, slurring, “I think I love you, Robbie!”

Mark lived nearby, in a basement studio at the heart of Southside. By the time the pair had made it to the door, Dick was carrying him.

“Oh God, it’s like we’re married”, Mark giggled as his feet touched down at his threshold. He unlocked the door and leaned forward, “You wanna come in for a drink?”

Dick smiled at the absurdity. “I think you’ve already had too many. Good night, Mark.”

Before closing the door, the slender man rushed back out and pulled Dick into a glittery, wet kiss, then released. “G’night cutie!”

Dick circled back and opened the door of his motel room at 3:10, absently flicking on the lights and trying to ignore the bugs.

Despite himself, he jumped when a tall figure stalked out of the shadows in the corner of the room. Batman.

“Christ! I don’t think I’ve ever been on the receiving end of that. I’m surprised you haven’t put more people in the hospital from heart attacks alone.”

“You’re late. Check in was at 0300.” Batman was terse. Pissed.

Dick sighed. “I know. I’m sorry. It was... an eventful night.”

Batman grunted, coming closer to inspect the fresh marks on his protégés neck and face. He ran a gloved finger along Dick’s chin, pulling away some of Mark’s glitter lipgloss. “So it would seem. If you’re in too deep already...”

“No” Dick interrupted decisively. “I am closer by the day. This is _definitely_ our best lead. It’s not just a club, it’s a brothel; they withhold cash under the guise of ‘paying down a tab’, they push drugs and alcohol to keep ‘employees’ dependent. And I’m already working my way up. I’ve been requested to keep company with Collin Thornton tomorrow. He’s a mid level recruiter in all of this. I have this under control. Let me work.”

Batman nodded, a rare sign of approval. “Call Oracle. She’s angry. And don’t miss check in again. I have better things to do than make sure you keep curfew.”

Batman turned back into the shadows and out the bathroom window without another word. Dick rubbed his face and pulled his earpiece out of the drawer.

“Hey hotness. It’s me.”

“Do NOT ‘hey hotness’ me! You are _very_ late. You had better have a good reason.”

As much as Barbara’s familiar voice was a balm for the shitty evening he’d had, he was exhausted. “I already gave B the 411. I have to get some sleep. I’ll fill you in tomorrow.”

“Nightwing... please don’t scare me like that again. Bad enough you’re in a horrible motel in the Suicide Slums, without backup, but you are trying to take down criminals that make people disappear for a living. Just don’t... don’t screw up.”

“Promise, Babe. Good night.”

“Good night, ‘wing”

He really was bone tired. He really should get some sleep. But he also really wanted another shower, and he couldn’t get Thornton’s creepy ‘smile-not-smile’ out of his mind.

Sleep would have to wait.


	5. My Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oracle warns Dick against his recklessness, but he is resolute. Can he make it out of the tangled web woven just for him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was listening to Chase Holfeilders version of “My Way” as I wrote this chapter. 
> 
> If you like song pairings with chapters, let me know, as I usually write to music.

They had been arguing for hours, code names long forgotten in the heat of the moment.

“I _have_ to go tonight, Barbara. I’m so close. I can just _feel _that this is the break we need. I can’t walk away now.”

Oracle’s anger was obvious, even through the crackling comm line. “You need to walk away. You are in too deep and you know it. You can _not_ go to a second location with our prime suspect without any tracking or monitoring whatsoever. That’s exactly how people disappear, Dick!”

He knew she wasn’t wrong. But he also knew this all had to stop as soon as possible, consequences be damned.

“I can handle whatever Thornton can throw at me. He operates by intimidation and coercion. But he can’t game me now that I know how he gets the job done. At the end of the day he’s an old guy in a bad suit. He can’t hurt me, Barbara.”

He wished that last part were true - but he couldn’t tell her that he _had_ been hurt, that he could still feel Thornton’s fingernails digging into his hips, still taste his skin...

It was fine. He could handle it.

“I’m sorry, Barbara, I have to go. I can’t be late. I’ll check in at 0300.”

He swore he heard her sniffle, “You better, bird boy”

——-

The club was already beginning to fill when Dick arrived at quarter to ten. Mr. F was very clear that tardiness would not be tolerated, and he did not want to blow a chance at getting deeper into the syndicate. In the dressing room, with the name “Malone” scrawled across it, he found a suit bag bearing the brand of a fairly upscale tailor he recognized. It wasn’t “Wayne Money” nice, but enough that it would catch the attention of someone with a history on the streets. Someone like Robbie.

Inside, Chambray trousers and a Royal Oxford shirt, paired with Saffiano leather shoes. Dick thought this looked distinctly like something Alfred would have picked for him to wear, and smiled in spite of himself, and in spite of what accepting the clothes meant.

“Look at you, pleased as a peacock!” Mark giggled behind him. “Well? Put it on already!”

Dick changed quickly, acutely aware that his ride would be arriving shortly. It was a decent fit, if a little long in the inseam. Mark put his hand to his chest, waving away faux tears from his face, “Little Robbie, all grown up! And so fast, too! Don’t forget us peasants while you’re playing with nobility, alright?”

Outside, the January air had a bite, even this close to the bay. Dick suppressed a shiver as a black BMW with heavily tinted windows rolled up to the curb in front of him. He took a breath, trying to absorb and mentally record every detail as the driver exited the car and walked around to open his door.

The tall, muscular man rounded the back of the car - it was clear he was no chauffeur - holstered to his side was a high end Rorbaugh handgun, a favorite of mobsters and spies alike. Dick’s senses were on edge as a disturbing thought floated to the forefront of his mind - Barbara was right; this might actually be the moment he disappears, too.

The back passenger door opened and Thornton waved him in with a chilling smile. As he slid into the seat, he took note - the ‘child lock’ was engaged. Once the door was closed, there would be no opening it from the inside.

Thornton placed his hand high on Dicks thigh, rubbing and massaging, as the ‘driver’ slammed the door shut. “You look good enough to eat. Champagne?”

It sounded less like a compliment and more like a threat, but Dick smiled anyway. “Thank you. For everything, I mean. This is nice.” He took the glass, trying to avoid drinking it - he’d need to be in complete control tonight.

_Come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly,_ he thought, as the car pulled away.

“A toast,” Thornton began, “To new beginnings.”

Dick nodded slightly and raised his glass, still not bringing it to his lips.

Thornton’s smile evaporated. “Drink.” came the curt command, “We’re not going far.”

Through the darkened windows, the squat buildings of Southside Metropolis gave way to the cutting edge architecture of New Troy before they crossed over the bridge to St. Martin’s Island - home to some of Metropolis’ richest denizens.

The car slowed and stopped in front of a modest villa on the waterfront, the secure gate closing behind them. Thornton and Dick exited, walking to the front door.

Dick was suddenly having trouble connecting his thoughts, the walkway swam in front of him and Thornton steadied him, forcing him into a possessive, painful kiss.

_Goddamnit. You knew the champagne was laced. Idiot_

As he fought against the darkness closing in on the center of his vision, and he collapsed on the threshold, he heard Thornton whisper, though he wasn’t sure to whom, “Get him inside with the others - it’s almost time for our bidders to arrive.”

——-

Dick wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he finally opened his eyes, squinting against the bright light. His mouth was so dry it hurt, and his head pounded angrily as he sat up. He immediately began taking stock of his surroundings.

Interior room, no windows - it looked like a large walk-in closet; empty shelves and bars hung off to the side. There was a single door; locked. No visible hinges.

He pressed his ear to the wood and listened. Beyond, somewhere in the house, soft jazz and low conversations; the din of a party. And something else - significantly closer beyond the door - a sniffling, hitching, sobbing noise. Someone was just outside.

He banged on the solid door, “Hey. Get me out of here and I can help you!”

“Shut _up_! You’ll get us all in trouble!”

_All?_ This was it. Relief and exhilaration washed over him. He moved back and planted a hard kick on the door, near the latch. Wood cracked and groaned, but the door didn’t budge. A few more kicks and he’d have it.

“Seriously. _SHUT UP!_ Do you know what will happen to you, to us, if you break stuff? You’re probably in there in the first place because you don’t listen.”

The voice on the side of the door was young, and terrified. Quietly, Dick asked, “What’s your name?”

“Shhh!”

Deeper in the house, the partygoers applauded for some sort of announcement, followed by shuffling and frightened gasps from the adjacent room. They were moving people. He had to get in there. Now.

Before he could line up for another kick, the door swung open and a large man pointed a gun at his face. “Time to go, sweetheart. Can’t keep them waiting”

Tentatively, Dick stepped out of the closet and his excitement at possibly finding the lost boys evaporated. Nearly a dozen unfamiliar kids were lined up behind several armed guards - some weeping quietly, some sporting fresh bruises, or blank stares; all of them bound at the wrists.

He was shoved forward to his place in line, and a zip tie was pulled around his own wrists, tight enough to draw blood.

The boy at the front, deep cracks around his lips, was pulled into the main room and out of sight. The party sounds were still indistinct, but the canter of voices was rhythmic, familiar. His stomach dropped.

An auction.

The traffickers were nothing if not efficient. It seemed to be only minutes before Dick was alone with the guards, the other boys having been pulled away, not returning.

A thick, calloused hand clamped down on the back of his neck, and he felt the barrel of a gun dig into his back. “You’re up.”

The ‘party’ was sickening in its resemblance to Bruce’s small galas. He hated attending as a boy. Wryly, he acknowledged, this would be worse.

“Tonight I present to you the crown jewel of our collection,” Thornton stood a few steps up the main stairway, addressing the crowd, and smiling menacingly at Dick as he was paraded to the front of the room. “He’s rumored to speak eight languages fluently, and his absence is sure to distract a business rival or two. Shall we start the bidding at $100,000 for the prodigal son of the Prince of Gotham, Richard Grayson?”


	6. White Elephant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just because something has value, doesn’t mean it has a price.

Gasps and murmurs swept through the crowd as Thornton grabbed Dick’s arm and pulled him onto the stairs to allow his guests a better view. 

Those in attendance seemed more terrified than awestruck. No one bid. 

“Really? This is a one-of-a-kind opportunity, ladies and gentlemen! A priceless collectors item. Valuable leverage. This is not a mere toy, it’s uses are endless!” Thornton was getting shrill - this was clearly not going as planned. 

A man toward the back dressed in a thwab shook his head angrily, throwing up his hands before abruptly leaving, his numerous attendants following suit. Groups slowly broke off, returning their champagne flutes, hiding their faces and finding the exit. 

The party was over. 

A pinched, tall, sneering man approached Thornton, eyes locked on Dick for a moment but addressing the older man, “You have made quite a mess here, Collin.”

The memories finally clicked into place. This was Alistair Bendel-White, CEO of HSC International Banking, a front and laundering service for Intergang. 

In spite of the danger, Dick couldn’t help but be pleased. An Intergang tie-in to the disappearances not only made sense, given the scope, but was also a huge break. 

_Not that I’ll likely live long enough to tell anyone_

Alistair huffed and turned to face Thornton. “You told me you had new product to move. Not that you were trying to start a war with Bruce Wayne, of all people.”

“I didn’t know it was his kid, at first, but I figured it out, and it’s a blessing. He’s priceless!” Thornton argued, “If nobody local is willing to buy, we just have to move to the international market. This kid is worth 10 million at least!”

Pulling his glasses off and shining the lenses on a handkerchief, Alistair sighed, “Our _operation_ is worth _billions_, Collin. We should have replaced you long ago. You are far too short sighted. Too _interested_ in the services our products provide.” He tutted in disgust, then turned to two strapped guards at the bottom of the stairs, “Please see Mr. Thornton our of my home. Ensure he does not _ever_ return. And secure the boy. I need to think.” 

Withdrawing their weapons, the two goons approached; one grabbed Dick by the scruff of his neck, the other held Thornton by the arm, and the pair were marched into the back gardens. Behind a strand of arbor vitae was an antique root cellar; mounded dirt and stone surrounded a heavy wooden door. 

Dick dug his heels into the damp soil before the entrance, prepared to fight. Thornton sobbed and pleaded, snot and tears running down his face. 

Before Dick was able to free his hands, one man brought the grip of his gun swiftly across the back of his head, then opened the door and tossed him down the stairs into the dim space; dazed and blinking against the flashes of light obscuring his vision. 

A gunshot rang out, echoing against the stone walls, and Thornton’s lifeless body was unceremoniously kicked in, too, before the door was bolted shut, blotting out any light at all. 

The room spun as Dick jumped to his feet, stumbling over the corpse and throwing his weight at the door. He roared in frustration when it didn’t budge, and the men outside chuckled, their voices fading until there was silence. 

Silence, and Darkness. And the smell of wet earth and blood all around him. 

The panic blindsided him. Panting, clenching his fists, he sunk down to the floor and scooted as far away from Thornton’s body as possible. 

_How did this go so bad? Oracle’s going to be absolutely livid._

Thoughts of Barbara did nothing to quell his emotions. She _told_ him this was a mistake. _Begged_ him not to go. 

He really hated being wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter, transitional chapter but I promise, more action, more drama, and more naked bits are coming. Thanks, and stay tuned!


	7. ROI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One less trafficker to worry about, but Dick’s problems are only getting bigger.

He wouldn’t give in to panic. He wouldn’t do it. Panic was a useless waste of energy, and if he focused, he could still salvage this; still find the original 27 and get the additional ones he saw tonight. 

Anything less was failure. 

He groped around in the dark and his bound hands found Thornton’s rapidly chilling body. He rifled through his pockets, hoping for a phone, or a weapon. All he found was a handkerchief, a small pen knife, and some folded papers - likely talking points for this evenings ‘festivities’. 

At least the knife was useful. He set to work, moving the dull blade back and forth against his plastic restraint, inhaling in triumph as it popped free. 

The next objective was escape. He worked his hands against the stone and dirt walls, looking for loose edges that he could exploit. A few rocks came off in his hands - he slipped them into his pockets; he had to take weapons where he could find them. 

The cellar was small and it only took minutes to map its entirety by feel alone. Three paces by four. The steps were earthen and cinderblock, pressed in the corner with Thornton on the floor at their base. The board and batten door was well-maintained with heavy, solid, wood and oiled, iron hinges. 

More urgently, the floor was damp, with ice cold puddles forming as it began to rain outside. 

He wouldn’t do _anyone _any good if he died of hypothermia before he got out. He had the supplies to start a fire, but doubted the room was well ventilated enough for it. 

He decided to take another pass at the walls. Maybe there was a patch of dirt or wobbling stone that he could use as a starting point to dig out. 

After his third inspection, the water in the cellar was ankle deep in the back corner and rising steadily. He sat on the top step with his back against the door and curled up into himself, working diligently to keep warm and dry. In spite of his shivers, he couldn’t fight his exhaustion any more. He held his legs tightly and fell asleep. 

—-

There was no way to tell how much time had passed when he lifted his head again. He could only assume it was daytime, because a tiny pinhole of light was now visible at the top corner of the door. The rain had stopped, and much of the water had receded. Dick passed the time by tossing small pebbles into the remaining pools around the corner, trying to distract himself from the cold. 

The tiny beam of light had faded again when he heard footsteps rustling in the grass near the door. Dick crouched near the steps, hoping to catch the approaching man off guard. 

The lock and bolt dropped off the door and bright light from a flashlight flooded the cellar. Dick could just make out the shadow of one of Alistair’s guards and he jumped up, though not as quick as he’d like; his legs were cramping from the chill and close quarters. He snatched the heavy Maglight from the large mans hands and swung the base, connecting with his jaw, stepping over him as he crumpled and rolled down the stairs. Dick scanned the encroaching darkness for more assailants, but his eyes were too used to the pitch black, and he didn’t see another man behind him. He did, however, feel the blow to his back that made him gasp and fall to his knees on the soaking grass. 

He was hauled to his feet and dragged into the house, tugging and fighting back as much as possible the entire way. The contrast of the warm house against his cold skin made him shiver violently. 

Another heavyweight joined the first, and secured Dick into a chair in front of a minimalist, glass and metal desk. Seated behind it, narrowed eyes studying him, was Alistair. 

“I want to apologize for your extended confinement. We do try to be more gentle with our products before sale. I was, however, testing a hypothesis. I wanted to ascertain whether or not someone was looking for you, and in fact, whether anyone knew you were missing at all. It would seem your fall from grace was absolute - there is not so much as a classified ad in the Gotham Gazette asking after you.

“I do still have some further questions to determine your best...placement...in our organization. Please answer carefully; a bad fit would be disastrous. For you.

“Why was the son of one of the richest men in the world brought to me from a trashy strip club in the Suicide Slums? Were you bored?”

Dick sighed, improvising, “A few weeks ago, an old friend of mine, Patrick Clebb, went missing. As an eighteenth birthday present, his parents kicked him out. I heard he ended up there, and then was gone. I thought...”

“You thought this was a movie and you could do some sleuthing on your own and find a happy ending? Sad that Wayne wasted an expensive education on someone so fundamentally stupid.” Alistair sighed. “Despite his predilection for “sampling the goods” as they say, it would seem Thornton was correct. At this point, you would be best suited to the international market.” He rose to leave, “Feel free to get comfortable. It can often take our couriers a few hours to arrange documents.”

At the doorway, he paused, “Oh, your friend, Clebb? His return on investment was not favorable. Too much press. He should have stayed in the suburbs - he’s dead.”


	8. Speculate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dicks absence alerts the Batman to danger, but is it too late?

Bruce was in the middle of a board meeting when the call came. His secretary poked her head in tentatively after gently tapping on the door. 

“I’m sorry to disturb everyone, but you have what sounds like an urgent call on Line 1, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce inhaled with irritation. They had just gotten started, which meant they had potentially hours to go, and he was already counting the minutes until he could leave. Additional delays meant this day would drag on ad infinitum. He stood, smiling apologetically, “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. I won’t be a moment.”

Back in his office, he answered the phone with suspicion, “Hello? This is Wayne.”

“Bruce. I’m sorry, you weren’t answering your ‘personal’ phone...”

It was Barbara - terse, worried. Bruce sighed. She was taking Dick’s covert mission particularly hard this time; her normally stone cold demeanor seemed to be cracking under the weight of the work. He _had_ warned Dick his ‘involvements’ might interfere with the job, eventually. “What is it? I’m in a meeting, I can’t spare the time to fly to Metropolis because he was tardy by a few minutes. Again.”

He could hear Barbara steeling her voice against any overt displays of emotion, “Not a few minutes, this time. Twenty-six hours.”

“Give me twenty minutes. I’ll come to you.” Bruce tightened his jaw and hung up the phone. Dick had always been ideally suited to missions like these. He’s dismantled drug cartels and bands of assassins from the inside - his talents for improvising around a developing situation were noteworthy. He could handle himself, and trusting him was essential. 

_ But this feels different _

Bruce knew better than to ignore such a palpable intuitive moment. 

He waved off his secretary as he headed into for the board room with his coat and bag in hand, “I’m very sorry, however an urgent family matter has come up...”

Lucius Fox met Bruce’s eyes and nodded in secret understanding, “Of course, Mr. Wayne! I’ll finish up with the board today and I’ll leave whatever papers we have with your secretary so you can sign them!” He waved his hand dismissively, “Go on ahead! And good luck!” 

He made it to The Clock Tower with time to spare. Barbara let him up, and he wasted no time with pleasantries. “Report, Oracle.”

“Dick’s last check in was at 21:15 the night before last. We... argued. He was planning to move to a second locale with one of our suspects...”

“Collin Thornton.” Batman interrupted. 

“Yes. I thought he needed to go with GPS and audio. Traffickers have turned ‘disappearing’ people into an art form, after all. He felt that would compromise his cover. He set the next checkin at 03:00 the next morning. When he didn’t report, I called our primary location, pretending to be a scorned girlfriend. One of the employees said he left in a car with Thornton at 22:15 and was likely still ‘partying’. I decided to give it more time, hoping it was just a particularly good lead. But after more than 24 hours with no news, I made the decision to end the mission and loop you in.”

“So his last confirmed location was the club at 22:15 the night before last. Did you get a name from your contact?” Bruce wanted every single detail. 

“He said his name was ‘Mark’. I did a little digging. The only employee at the club going by ‘Mark’ is a 21 year old man named ‘Marcus Fuller’. Lots of minor drug and solicitation charges, no violent crimes. Here’s his address.” 

“I’ll check into it. And Oracle?” Bruce turned to leave, “He’ll come home. I promise.” 

——

The shadows on Southside were growing long when Batman arrived. He effortlessly popped the back door to Mark’s studio and went inside, hiding in the dark afforded by the blackout curtains hung at every window. A slim figure lay, snoring softly, on a nearby futon, amid empty blister packs and mini bottles of liquor. 

Batman kicked the leg of the futon and Mark’s eyes popped open. “Oh shit!” He exclaimed and bolted for the door. Gloves hands grabbed him before he could get far and pinned him on a nearby wall. 

“I’m looking for someone”, Batman growled. 

Breathlessly, Mark replied “I don’t think we have any mutual friends, asshole.” 

“Robbie Malone”

“Fuck. Did his bible-thumping bitch of a mother finally get a soul and want him back? Doesn’t matter, Robbie’s fine ass is probably schmoozing it up with some rich Daddies by now. He didn’t come back after he left for an _exclusive_ party.” 

Batman tightened his grip, “Where?”

“Jesus! You’re hurting me! How am I supposed to know? Thornton has almost never picked anyone from our club before. Robbie must’ve been a hell of a fuck to get picked up so quick.”

Batman’s insides felt cold. He remembered the marks on Dick’s chest and throat. He tried to ignore intrusive thoughts of Dick being brutalized by some psychopath. Emotions would have to wait. He leaned in, snarling, “Make an educated guess.” 

“I don’t....know!” Mark was struggling for breath against the pressure and panic. “I just work there! Ask Mr. F! Finley, Chester Finley. He runs the club, used to work with Thornton on St. Martins.”

Batman dropped him and turned to leave, but Mark continued, “You should just leave him alone. He’s happier now, he’s _good_ at his job. And... Thornton doesn’t take kindly to people crashing his parties. If he finds out that you’re coming for Robbie, it might not end well for him.” 

Without reply, Batman slid into the shadows and out the back door. 

Once in the alley, he pressed his comm, “Oracle?”

“Any news?” She replied immediately. 

“Not yet. Get me the address for Chester Finley.” 

——-

It took a while, and some dangling over buildings, but Batman got what he wanted from Finley. 

“Party was at Mr. Alistair’s house that night! Last name’s White! I don’t know nothing else, honest!”

Unfortunately for Finley, there were several outstanding warrants for fraud and racketeering out in his name. After extracting the details, Batman left him trussed in alley with police on the way. 

“Where do I know the name Alistair White, Oracle?” Batman asked. 

“If you mean Alistair _Bendel_ White, he’s the head of HSC Bank - they do a _lot_ of business with different criminal organizations, most notably Intergang.”

“Does he own any property on St. Martin’s Island?” 

“Umm, it doesn’t look like it...”, Oracle hesitated as she consulted her computer, “But subsidiaries of HSC Bank do have some holdings there and nearby. Looks like three residences directly on St. Martins, and a small private airstrip outside of Bakerline.” 

“Any flight plans out of the airport recently?” 

Barbara held her breath, trying not to hyperventilate. “One - left about 5 hours ago. A small cargo plane headed for Bangkok. Batman, if he’s on that plane; if he’s already out of the country... There’s no getting him back, is there?” 

It was times like these that Batman hated knowing too much. If it was any other person, missing more than 24 hours, over international waters and headed to one of the largest hotbeds of human trafficking on Earth, he knew there was close to zero chance of family reunification. He was sure Oracle knew the odds, too. 

But this was Nightwing, so Batman feigned apathy, trying to convince himself as much as anyone else, “He’ll come home, Oracle. He knows what he’s doing.”

He closed the comm line as the dam on his emotions burst, and he found himself shaking with fear, and rage. 

There was only one thing clear in Batman’s mind; someone would pay for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, as I’m writing these kinds of “on the fly” stories, I love to check in and see how y’all think it’s coming along! If you have an opinion, love it or hate it, drop it in the comments


	9. Abracadabra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief, but explicit and decidedly non-con scenario ahead.

There had to be an angle. Something he could work to his advantage. He clung to that hope as he was shoved into the back seat of an SUV, next to a foul smelling, hairy character. Stinky smiled, no - leered, at Dick as he sat just a little too close and slung one arm over Dick’s shoulders, casually aiming his gun at Dick’s chest. 

The ‘couriers’ had arrived much faster than Alistair had hinted at. The three men that came for Dick seemed keyed up even before Alistair warned them, “High end buyers do _not_ want damaged product. If I lose any more money on this debacle, I’ll be sure to take my pound of flesh from you, personally.”

After that they were terrified. Which meant they were on edge. And ‘on-edge’ idiots with guns often kill the people they point at. And that was the exact _opposite_ of what their boss wanted. 

Dick almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. 

Almost. 

As the SUV pulled out, Dick kept his gaze focused through the tinted windows. He wanted to know precisely where they were going - anything to give him an edge. Stinky’s heavy breathing, coupled with the fact that he hadn’t had anything to eat or drink in quite a while, made paying attention extremely difficult. He was soon disoriented, unsure of their heading. It wasn’t until they pulled up to a small airstrip and into the view of an idling cargo plane that the dread began to creep up Dick’s throat again. 

The two men in the front seats stepped out as soon as the car came to a halt. The driver walked over to Stinky’s door and tapped on the window - he rolled it down in reply. 

“Make sure he takes his medicine. Don’t want him causing trouble once we’re in the air. Back in a bit.” The man passed in a syringe filled with golden liquid, and Stinky closed the window. 

“Hey, hey,” Dick began, scooting away as he uncapped the needle, “I don’t need that. I won’t cause any problems. I promise.” He smiled flirtatiously, trying to work any angle he could to avoid whatever they were trying to dose him with. 

“You promise, huh?” Stinky recapped the needle, dropping it into the cup holder before leaning back and unzipping his pants, pulling out his half-hard cock. “Prove it, pretty slut. Prove you’ll listen to orders, won’t be no trouble. Suck it.” 

Dick failed to suppress a shudder. The mans odor was almost thick in the car - so much worse now that his fly was down. But drugs would make escape so much harder; potentially impossible, depending on what was in the syringe. He had to do this, there was no choice. 

He tried to start tentatively, taking a deep breath before leaning down into the man’s lap. But once he’d slipped the head into his mouth, the man grabbed his scalp and shoved hard, grinding Dick’s nose into his pubic hair, holding him in place as he gagged, trying to move back, to get some air. 

Stinky loosened his grip only slightly, then began moving his hips wildly in the seat, with no predictable rhythm. Dick did his best to steady himself on the mans thighs, horrified as he suddenly poured into his mouth; hot, sticky, foul tasting. Mercifully, it was quick. 

Dick was allowed to sit back up, catching his breath and doing his best to clean his mouth out on his sleeve. 

Stinky wiped himself with his hands, smearing them on the leather seats, and pulled on his zipper. He grabbed the syringe again and uncapped the needle with his teeth, grabbing Dick’s arm and plunging it in before he had time to react. 

“Turns out I’m a pretty good liar, whore. Thanks for the quickie. Lights out.”

The effect of the drug was potent and immediate. A wave of intense euphoria flooded every corner of his body, and suddenly everything felt warm and safe and good. Dimly, the Batman-honed part of his brain registered the drug; heroin. Then the only thing he could think was how incredible this felt. 

Too soon, the edges of pleasure ebbed away and he felt spent and heavy as he was pulled from the SUV and marched across the tarmac. 

He gulped down the freezing cold air, doing whatever he could to clear his mind, but everything seemed so soft, woolen. Even as he tripped up the metal steps to the loading door and sliced his shin, all he felt was the warm blood dribbling down his leg, soaking through the fabric of his pants. 

He was pushed into the body of the plane, and was stunned to see it nearly full - an amalgam of sealed plastic containers and frightened people. Some were just children, huddled against each other for warmth. 

He was pushed to his knees, his hands bound to a tie down loop on the floor of the plane. 

Indistinctly, he heard a ‘courier’ confirm - all present and accounted for, legal flight plan filed (to avoid suspicion, of course), fueled and ready. Time for takeoff. 

The plane taxied into place, then accelerated. Liftoff. Dick’s eyes shut despite his fervent attempts to stay conscious. Everything just seemed so cozy and distant. Such a contrast to the reality of the freezing metal that surrounded him. 

_Goddamnit,_ came the final, irrational thought before he lost consciousness, _Barbara was right. It was like a magic trick - this was **exactly** how someone disappeared._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you think? Can Dick get out of this alive? Can he rescue anyone? Or is it curtains on his freedom? Drop your theories in the comments.


	10. Controlled Descent

Before he opened his eyes, he felt the pain. An ache from head to toe, as if the heroin hadn’t stopped any sensations at all, just delayed them, stored them up for later, only to come rushing back all at once. It was a small wonder people ended up addicted so quickly; part of him would do anything to trade this feeling for ecstasy of those first few seconds. 

And part of him just wanted to get off this fucked up ride. 

He opened his eyes just a sliver, trying to reorient himself without anyone noticing he was coming to. 

His wrists were still tied to the floor, but he had slumped over slightly to his side, though still upright, onto a plastic shipping container. His legs felt heavy, useless, numb; he must’ve been kneeling for hours. 

_That’s going to be a problem._

He only saw two guards, sitting in jump seats, bored and dozing; He was sure there would be more to rotate through the trip. 

Clumsily, he shifted to a sitting position, stretching his legs out before him as best as he possibly could and trying to rub some life into them. It was, at best, an awkward proposition. He was moving his hands over his hips when he almost shouted with excitement - he had forgotten; his pockets were still filled with sharp, jagged rocks from the root cellar. Having something to use as a weapon could make all the difference. 

One of the men in the jump seats sat up slightly, eyeing Dick warily. He elbowed his partner in the arms. “Hey Dave, is it time for our princess to get more ‘medicine’?” 

Blearily, Dave sat up and checked his watch, rubbing his eyes. “Goddamnit, Tony. I don’t know.” He was tired and irritated. “We should have had at least a few more hours. But we’re supposed to keep him under for the trip; get him hooked before we get to Thailand. I’ll check with boss. Sit tight.” 

“Hurry up, I have to piss!” Tony relaxed back into his seat, returning to a game on his phone. Dick took advantage of the distraction and slipped the sharpest rock from his pocket, sawing steadily, surreptitiously, at his restraints. 

Dave came back promptly with another fully syringe. “Go to the bathroom before you burst Tony.” He crouched down beside Dick with the syringe, grabbing his arm and smiling apologetically, “Time for another bump, Princess.”

Dick snapped the restraint upward, freeing his hands and, landing two consecutive blows to Dave’s head before he had time to react. Dick pushed him to the ground as the man slumped over. 

Slowly, too slowly, Dick dragged himself to his feet, bracing against the cargo netting. A voice from behind him, small and afraid, grabbed his attention. A small girl, eight at most. “Please stop, mister. You’ll get us all in trouble. I don’t want to be in trouble again.”

Dick smiled as warmly as he could, “Don’t worry, I’m going to get us home.”

The girl shook her head, “No. You’re going to make them hurt us. You’re going to get in trouble. I need to be a good girl. I need to tell them.” She inhaled sharply before yelling as loud as she could, “HELP! He’s trying to get up!” 

_Fuck_

Tony burst out of the bathroom, frantically pulling up his pants and pulling out his gun. 

“You _really_ want to shoot at me in a pressurized cabin, pal? You blow out a window or hit some wiring and we’re all dead!” Dick knew that was more than a slight exaggeration, but Tony paused long enough for Dick to hurl another pocket-rock at the gunman’s head, striking with a satisfying ‘fwump’ as Tony collapsed, out cold. 

Two more heavies pushed into the cargo hold from the small passenger compartment; Stinky and an equally ugly brute, armed and pissed. Out of projectiles, Dick had no choice but to take a more personal approach. He leaped forward with as much force as he could manage, aiming low and pulling the first guard off balance, taking him to the floor before striking with an elbow, knocking him out. 

Using the momentum, he rolled forward and pulled down on Stinky’s arm, firing his palm under the filthy mans jaw, dropping him instantly. 

He set to work pulling the dead-weight together, improvising bindings. A young woman, one of the victims, gently touched his arm. “We will do this,” she pointed to the door to the cockpit, “_Idti_, go!”

Dick smiled and nodded, “_Spasibo._”

He stood and took a steadying breath, finding his footing as the plane hit a small pocket of turbulence. 

The pilot looked stunned, then angry, as Dick charged into the cockpit. The copilot grabbed onto Dick’s shoulder, but he spun around and crushed down on his instep, pushing the assailants head down into his upward knee, breaking his nose. Growling, doing his best Batman impression, Dick addressed the pilot. “Find the nearest airport. Land the plane.” 

To his surprise, the pilot scoffed, “Go back to your seat, whore. This plane lands in Bangkok and nowhere else.” 

Rage and exhaustion clouding his focus, Dick reached down and pulled out the unconscious copilot’s side arm, aiming the weapon at the pilots head. Dick was shaking, aware he was losing control. But this had to stop. He had to _make_ it stop. “I wasn’t fucking asking.” 

The pilot _laughed_, mocking and mirthless. “Look, you dumb slut. If these wheels don’t touch down in Bangkok, I’m as good as dead anyway. So if you want to change our flight plan, you’re going to have to pull the trigger. And I don’t think you have the stomach for it. If you did, you wouldn’t be a hooker in the first place.” 

Dick drew a shaking breath, lowering the weapon. The pilot chuckled again, “Good boy. Now get out of my cockpit.” 

The snarl growing in Dick’s throat was low, primal, enraged. He lifted the weapon again and swung, connecting the grip with the pilots temple, watching as the man crumpled to the side in his seat. 

Horrified that he had almost given in, almost crossed _that_ line, Dick dropped the gun and tried to steady himself, sucking in breath after breath before gently moving the pilot from his seat, being careful not to disturb the controls. 

_Ok. All I have to do is figure out where I am and land this thing. With a heroin hangover._

Wryly, he wished he’d payed more attention to the flight lessons Bruce insisted on when he was younger. He’d flown helicopters and the Batplane more recently, but it couldn’t compare to the bulk and complexity of a commercial freighter. 

He picked up the headset and switched to the emergency channel and pulled down a sticky note with the planes call number, “Mayday, mayday. This is Foxtrot-Charlie six-four-two-three, requesting escort and landing assistance.”

A tight, British voice clipped in, “This is Royal Air Force D&D at the London Terminal Control Centre. We hear you and are prepared to offer the necessary assistance. What’s your situation?” 

Dick paused, trying to piece together an explanation, a way to express the urgency, “I’m on a cargo plane with about 75 other victims of human trafficking. I took control of the plane. I’m just trying to get everyone home, safe.” 

“Standby for escort and instructions to London Heathrow. What’s your name, poppet?” 

Breathing a shaky sigh of relief, the end of the ordeal in sight, he replied. “Grayson. Dick Grayson. My... father is Bruce Wayne. Can someone tell him I’m ok, please?”

“Absolutely. You’re doing a brilliant job. Now we’re going to get you back on the ground.”


	11. Laurels

After touchdown, the scene at the airport was chaos. Try as he might, the landing was not particularly smooth, and the plane slid halfway off the end of the runway and into the marshy grass beyond. 

It was hours before the scene was secure and the people on board, unloaded. Dick helped the last of the children exit the plane before descending the inflatable slide himself, exhaustion setting in as his adrenaline subsided. He was only marginally aware of someone, a paramedic, wrapping a thin foil blanket around his shoulders and escorting him to an ambulance for triage. The soft-lens focus the world had taken on was still clouding his judgement, and he flinched as a bright light was waved in his eyes and an authoritative voice asked him, “Sir, can you tell me your name?”

Dick inhaled, struggling to make sense of such an ordinary question. His brain felt leaden, his tongue too thick to form the words. 

From beyond the flashing lights, he heard a familiar baritone voice, drawing closer, “Dick! Dick!” It was Bruce. 

Dick was only sure it wasn’t some fatigue-induced hallucination when a constable stepped in between Bruce and the row of open ambulances. “Right back then, sir! Let’s let the medics do their jobs, shall we?” 

“Please, that’s my son.” Bruce didn’t hesitate, like they always seemed to do when clarifying their relationship. The deep concern was real, and honest, and incredibly reassuring. 

The Bobby eyed Bruce skeptically, “You’ll understand, sir, if we can’t take you at your word, given the situation here. We’ve got a waiting area set up for family confirmations in a hangar just to this side...”

Before he could be led away, Dick found his voice, cracking and unfamiliar though it was, “Bruce!” He addressed the constable, “Please, sir, he’s my Dad!” 

Shifting his eyes between the two for a moment, deciding, the cop nodded and waved Bruce through the barricade. 

It seemed like the fog lifted as Bruce wrapped him in a warm, strong, _real_ hug. 

“We thought you were gone for good, chum.” Bruce said, stifling uncharacteristic tears. 

“So did I. I’m so sorry. It went so wrong so fast...did Babs come with you?”

—————  
——-  
“This just in, police at Heathrow International Airport in London confirm they have secured a cargo airplane housing over 75 missing and exploited men, women, and children. Authorities believe this to be one of the largest single recoveries of victims of human trafficking in modern history. Eyewitness accounts tell us the hero of the hour is quite an unlikely figure. Richard Grayson, former ward and heir of billionaire Bruce Wayne, is rumored to have been unintentionally targeted by the international trafficking syndicate, but was able to escape, bringing the plane, and its occupants, to safety.”  
——-

Barbara watched the broadcast on her phone in the car. Bruce had gone to try and find Dick in the melee, and Alfred had settled on buying all of Dick’s favorite snacks from the terminal convenience stores for the plane ride home. 

She elected to wait. Behind her bubbling relief she felt empty. Angry. She _told_ him this would happen. 

But that wasn’t entirely it, either. 

Whatever emotion it was, it started when Bruce came back to the Clock Tower to regroup, and to try and find out for sure whether or not Dick was on the plane. 

“What did Fuller and Finley tell you?” She had pushed the question over and over. It was irritating that Batman was clearly withholding information from her. As if she wouldn’t find out eventually anyway. He told her about the HSC bank connections, the ‘party’. Nothing new. 

But there was more and she had to know. 

Bruce had been patronizing and vague, “Dick has made significant sacrifices to gain his position in this mission. We need to work to find him, but not at the expense of his progress.”

_Sacrifices. _As if she hadn’t sacrificed sleep and sanity on this mission, too. 

Vague as ever, Batman refused to elaborate, “_When_ Dick comes home, I have confidence he will tell you everything. It’s not for me to say.” 

This, of course, had only left her imagination to run wild. As her computer complied lists of Intergang property holdings in Bangkok, just in case, it hit her. 

How _had_ Dick made so much progress so quickly? Why had he refused to give report to her that night, before they argued. He claimed to be “too tired.” Was that a lie? 

The pieces abruptly snapped together...

Dick had slept with someone for his ‘position’ on this mission. Possibly many ‘someones’. She confronted Bruce with her conclusion. 

“Barbara, I _know_ you understand that traffickers are masters of coercion. I doubt that, whatever he did, he did willingly. His choices reflected only how seriously he took this mission, not how fondly he regards you.”

Logically, she knew Bruce was right. She knew, if Dick was reduced to using sex as a tool, there had been no other choice. 

So why did she feel so...jealous? So betrayed?

Without having all the information, she could only guess at what Dick had been forced to endure for the sake of his mission. 

Which, she supposed, is why she didn’t go with Bruce to find him. He could be hurt, fragile, scared. His cover was blown; he would undoubtedly be disappointed in himself. 

She didn’t want her own confused, negative emotions to feed into that. She needed time to figure out her own issues before she could see him. Before she could support him like he deserved. And _needed_.


	12. Ultimatum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been an amazing ride with all of you. Thanks for the love!

Dick was very confused. 

After the events of the last two days - the plane, the ride home, everything - Barbara had simply stopped speaking to him. He had even tried calling on Oracle, but she only clarified that the call wasn’t “mission critical” before disconnecting. 

Once he was able to escape from Alfred’s watchful eye (he insisted that Dick needed bedrest and good food, in spite of not having any real physical injuries), he took his ‘cycle to the Clock Tower, buzzed, and waited. 

He buzzed again, and the intercom clicked. “I’m very busy...”

“Please, I just want to talk, Barbara. Whatever’s eating at you, we can work through this together...”

The door snapped open. Dick trotted up the stairs to the main apartment. He almost just walked in, but Barbara seemed like she needed distance, so he knocked. She only opened the door a crack. 

“I _said_ I was busy. Personal conversations need to wait.”

“Call it a mission debrief, then. I could use Oracle’s ‘expertise’ to pinpoint the _many_ ways I royally screwed up.” Dick offered a hopeful smile. 

Barbara sighed and let him in, avoiding eye contact and moving back to the computer screens. 

“I want to apologize, Babs. I should have trusted your good sense and not pursued that lead any further. I can’t begin to imagine the amount of stress you had to endure because of my stubbornness. I hope... you can forgive me.” 

She removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. Sighing. “No, Dick. You did what you should have done. Those people on that plane are alive, some of them are even home, because of your ‘stubbornness’. I’m sure you did other things for the sake of the mission, too. I’m just...struggling with what some of that might have been.” 

He stood behind her, tentatively placing a hand on her shoulder, “Look at me. What are you talking about?”

“How many people did you have sex with? While you were ‘on mission’?” She looked away, ashamed that she even wanted to ask the question. 

Dick stiffened and stepped back, dropping his hand away from her. “I don’t understand...”

Angrily, she faced him at last. “This was supposed to be a ‘non-contact’ mission, Dick. You dance, people leer, you get answers. But I’m not stupid. I know there is no way you moved up as fast as you did by staying within ‘mission parameters’. So what did you do?” 

Dick’s eyes flickered with surprise. He dropped them, ashamed. “I didn’t have a choice. I was told, in no uncertain terms, to entertain Thornton, however he deemed fit. They tried to drug me, forced alcohol on me, and threatened me. I did what had to be done. I tried to use any leverage I had to keep myself aware and in control of situations as they developed. And I still ended up dosed, with heroin of all things, on a plane, headed for a life of sexual slavery. My last conscious thought in the plane before it took off was just how _right_ you were, and how sorry I was that you would carry the pain of losing me. And how much I would miss you.” He took a deep breath, feeling lighter for having told her, “But this... what? Jealousy? God, Babs. Do you hear yourself? Did you think I was just using this as an excuse to do what I pleased? Believe me, I didn’t derive any ‘pleasure’ from any of it! I didn’t want it! Any of it!” 

Dick was horrified to hear himself raising his voice. 

Barbara covered her mouth. “Oh God. Dick. I wasn’t thinking... I didn’t realize...”

“No. You weren’t thinking. And that’s not like you.”

The quiet stretched between them. At last, Dick sighed, “We can’t do this anymore. If you can’t trust me, what do we really have?” 

“Dick...”

“I have to go. Thank you for the debrief, Oracle.”

——-  
Dick returned to Wayne Manor - another of Alfreds requests while he “convalesced” - whatever than means in the context of someone who wasn’t sick in the first place. He was still reeling from his conversation. _How could she be jealous, of all things. How did she not understand that it wasn’t...That no amount of showering could wash off the fingerprints, or clear away the smells._

But he had to walk away, as much as it hurt. He knew from experience that jealousy, even unfounded, was poison to a relationship. 

He worked his way back to the kitchen. Alfred had concerns that Dick wasn’t able to eat while he was away, so he had stocked and cooked a veritable cornucopia of everything Dick liked - and right now he definitely could use a little indulgence. 

He was nibbling on a fresh _pirogo_ when Bruce wandered in. “Alfred knows you snuck out.”

Dick chuckled, though his heart wasn’t in it, “Oh boy. He’s going to stuff me with more desserts as punishment, isn’t he?” 

“He worried. We all did. How was Barbara?” 

Dick sighed, dropping the dumpling to a plate and brushing his hands. “I’m not even going to ask how you knew I was there. She and I... I think things are beyond repair.” He lowered his eyes and fiddled with the crumbs on the counter. “She wasn’t happy with some of the things I did... was forced to do. I’ve been trying to talk to her for days but... I think it’s just too hard for her. And as much as this is excruciating for me to say, you were right. ‘Coworker’ relationships don’t work.” 

Bruce raised an eyebrow, but mercifully didn’t rub it in. Instead he said, “I have a new mission for you, if you’re ready.” 

Dick sighed and shook his head, “I think maybe I should take some more time to reflect on the epic failure of this last one, don’t you?”

“This mission was a success.” There was no hint of doubt or hesitation when Bruce spoke, “You rescued over 75 people...”

“None of which were the initial targets. Patrick Clebb is dead. The rest of the 27, plus the dozen I saw at Alistair’s villa, are all dead or worse. I blew my cover, worried my family, did only minimal damage to a multi billion dollar operation, and alienated my girlfriend. Sounds like a _resounding _ success.” Dick wasn’t sure why he was angry at Bruce. It wasn’t his fault Dick ruined a mission months in the making. 

Bruce locked eyes with Dick, “You adapted to a challenging mission admirably. You did good work, and made it back. Do you think the lives of those you saved are so worthless that you consider this mission a failure?” 

Dick clenched his jaw and fixed his eyes back on his treat. He had lost his appetite. 

“Alfred says there’s mail for you in the foyer. Take a few minutes, then I expect you downstairs.” He stood and left without time for a rebuttal. Bruce was always brusque when he was trying to be reassuring. 

Dick cleaned up his dishes and headed back to the grand entrance. Stashed under the large antique pier table were two plastic postal bins. Filled with letters addressed to Dick. 

He flopped down cross legged against the wall and pulled through them, tearing into a few envelopes. 

He stopped breathing. The emotions were too much. Every letter was from those he rescued and their families. 

For Dick, the walls he’d built weeks ago in preparation finally crumbled. He clutched a handful of them to his chest, sobbing. 

Everything he had been through finally felt worth it. 

Sniffling, he grabbed a letter that didn’t quite blend in with the handwritten notes - the address was typewritten. There was no return address. 

His happy release sank into a pit of dread as he tore open the letter and read it. 

“Grayson. 

You cost me money, product, and time. 

Consider this a bill for my trouble - if you step out of daddy’s protective shadow for a second, you’re dead.”


End file.
